


The Tragedy Of The Atkinson Brothers

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [41]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, Ceylon, F/M, M/M, Murder, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, cover-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 19:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock arrives in Ceylon just too late to prevent a murder – but who is dead, and was it really murder after all? A Far Eastern case before the great detective returns to England and a married best friend.





	The Tragedy Of The Atkinson Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helicake752](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helicake752/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

I had thought that, having almost reached the end of Europe, my brother would return home in time for Christmas. However a letter from an old college friend sent him hurtling the same distance eastwards again, this time to the island of Ceylon off the southern tip of India, where he solved a most unusual case involving what seemed to be the wrong man being killed.

Talking of killing, _someone_ should not be allowed to bend over the chair like that whilst wearing tight trousers. I shall have to go and punish that _someone_. Excuse me.....

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Esquire_

I had had no particular destination in mind when I had finished with the little matter of concealing a murder in Odessa (as one does). I decided to visit Persia, a country I had always been curious about, and it was there that Fate brought me my next case in the port city of Basrah.

My intentions at this point were to head for home and first visit the Holy Land, particularly Jerusalem and Bethlehem, and then take a ship to England. However that particular day I was informed that someone had asked for me at the hotel. Curious – I knew no-one in this part of the world, and hoped desperately that it was not another request from my pest of a brother Mycroft – I came down to see who it was. To my utter astonishment it was none other than Captain Julius Atkinson, who had been at Caius College with me.

“I am so grateful to have caught up with you”, he said. “I could not believe my luck when I wrote to you in London, and I received the news that you were headed here.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked curiously. The former Byzantine capital was technically part of the Ottoman Empire but Constantinople was far away and of little interest to the people here. Indeed the British influence, especially with the Russian Bear trying to obtain a port on the Indian Ocean, was much the stronger.

“My father the colonel died last month”, he said, “and Marcus, my older brother, sent me to England to sort things out.”

“My condolences”, I said automatically. “Why did he not attend to matters himself?”

The captain blushed. It looked odd on his handsome figure as he was very much the atypical British soldier abroad; blond, fit and heroic. 

“He very much fears that someone is trying to have us both killed”, he said. 

Oh.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“We both of us most likely owe the fact we are still alive to that criminal associate of ours from college”, the captain said, once we were sat with drinks in my room. “Mr. Ivan Khrushnic. He sent me a telegraph last month and followed it up with a letter. It was bad news.”

“About your father's death?” I asked.

“Indeed”, he said. “Father, as you may remember, married our mother and they lived happily together for many years until she died, not long before he did. I do not suppose that you remember Captain Douglas Hellingly?”

I blinked at the apparent _non sequitur._

“Who?” I asked.

“Father's first cousin”, he said. “Considerably younger; he is only a few years older than Marcus. He married Lady Patricia Shenfield, from Essex. He was something of a spendthrift I am sorry to say, and by the time she died he had spent his way through most of her money.”

I wondered where he was going with this.

“My cousin has recently started to delve into the criminal world”, the captain said, “which is how he came to the attention of Ivan. As you know, my brother is engaged to be married and I am courting a lady back in England, but neither of us has any heirs as of yet. As Ivan pointed out – coldly but correctly – if anything happens to us, all Father's estates revert to Cousin Douglas. And within two days of Father's death, he suddenly quitted England on a ship bound for India.”

“Why India?” I asked,

“Much of Father's wealth is tied up in a huge tea plantation outside a place called Trincomalee, on the island of Ceylon”, the captain said. “Marcus has gone there to sort things out – and I am very much afraid that our cousin has followed him!”

To sort your poor brother out, I thought but did not say. I thought for a moment then did some quick calculations.

“Given the speed of modern shipping, your cousin might or might not have reached the island by now”, I said. “I shall wire to my brother Mycroft and see if he can obtain a ship for me to get there quickly. I promise that I will do all that I can to help.”

He looked immensely relieved.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

My luck was in, as the transport ship _”HMS Malabar”_ was in port, and Mycroft commissioned them to take me to the island as a matter of urgency. Unfortunately Trincomalee lay the best part of three thousand miles away across the Indian Ocean, and it was a fretful two weeks later that I finally disembarked, not forgetting to handsomely tip both the captain and crew for their efforts (something Watson had most definitely improved me over).

Captain Atkinson had said that his brother might not be staying at the plantation itself as the accommodation there was basic at best, and would more likely check himself into the hotel adjoining the British fort at Fort Frederick. I duly went there and asked the concierge if he was present. The way in which her face fell when I mentioned his name was, I thought, most likely not a good sign, and nor was the way she asked me to wait whilst she fetched the manager. She returned with the man just moments later, and he ushered me into his office. Mr. Ewan Coburg was, I thought, rather young for such a position even somewhere as remote as this; a tall, reedy fellow in his early thirties. 

“If only you had been here two days ago”, he said, running his hand through his thinning blond hair. “Captain Atkinson only checked in here then; he had been working at the estate in the weeks since he reached the island. And on his first night his poor valet went and got himself killed.”

I blinked in astonishment.

“Please tell me about it”, I said. 

The manager seemed to relax a little at the invitation, although I noted how the decanter on the side-table was half-empty. 

“The valet's name was Mr. Nigel Horton”, he said. “It is all really rather bizarre; it appears that he drowned but..... well, our resident doctor thought it a little strange.”

“Why?” I asked. 

“I am sorry”, he said, twisting his hands nervously. “I was only appointed last month when the previous manager was found to be defrauding the company, and several people said that I was not experienced enough. An under-manager still here expected to get the appointment, and he was.... well, less than happy at the company's decision to appoint me instead. He has not been helpful over this whole matter. I ran a small hotel in Madras beforehand, and this is a big step up for me – and now I have a death on my hands.”

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together.

“Captain Atkinson and his valet booked themselves in a little after seven o'clock yesterday evening.....”

“Did you have warning of their arrival?” I interrupted.

“Yes. A telegram sent the day before, from the plantation. I understand that the captain was staying there but there was a small fire and his accommodation was damaged.”

“I see. Pray go on.”

“They entered the pool room at just before eight the same evening”, the manager continued. “We usually close it at half-past but we try to be flexible for our guests. There was one man on duty – Paul - but he did not speak to either of them. He was 'on call' if they needed anything, which apparently they did not; the valet told him that his master wished to read quietly and perhaps swim later. Paul remained in his room until a quarter to ten when he was alerted by Captain Atkinson knocking frantically at his door, saying that his valet had suddenly collapsed whilst walking along the edge of the pool and had fallen in. He had tried to get him out but the man was too heavy for him to lift. Paul did help him drag the man out but he had apparently drowned.”

“Apparently?” I asked, wondering just how one 'apparently' drowned. The manager nodded.

“Our doctor did a quick check and found a small puncture wound in the arm”, he said. “Captain Atkinson, very reluctantly I might say, admitted that he had recently entertained suspicions that his valet was partaking of the evil opium, and several additional marks found on the body seemed to back this up.”

I nodded and looked expectantly at the manager.

“I think that is all, sir”, the man said. “Do you think you could take an interest in the case?”

“Only if you tell me everything, Mr. Coburg”, I said.

“But sir....”

“No, you have left something out.”

“I assure you, I have not.”

“What else did the doctor say?” I pressed.

The manager looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared.

“Oh, that”, he said dismissively. “But that was nothing.”

“He commented on the stiffness of the limbs, did he not?”

The manager stared at me in amazement.

“How.... how on earth could you know that?” he almost shrieked.

“It is my business to know things, sir”, I said crisply (if perhaps a little too proudly). “Indeed, I am fairly sure that I already know exactly how this death occurred. I will however need to do a few things before I can be absolutely certain. For any subsequent court case, you understand.”

The manager was looking at me like I was the Second Coming.

“Name them!” he said.

“I need to dispatch a telegram to a policeman friend in London”, I said. “And after I see the body of the dead man, I think it only fair that I have a talk with the gentleman who checked in at seven o'clock last night.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The victim had been about thirty years of age at his demise, but in surprisingly poor physical condition for a man of his age and employment. The local doctor had been right about the number of pinpricks on his arm, although he seemed to have applied some sort of unguent in an attempt to hide them. I found that quite curious; I had not thought that even in this climate, valets would perform their duty bare-armed.

There was one other curious thing about the body that I had not expected, although perhaps I should have done. There was a small mark on the man's neck; I had thought it to be just a birthmark, but a second look convinced me otherwise. It was a tattoo transfer, and quite recently applied judging from the look of it. The sign of infinity, an eight on its side which I knew was used by some criminal groups to mark either members or victims. 

I next went to see the concierge and established that she had been the one there when the two guests had booked into the hotel. She clearly thought my questions a little strange but duly provided descriptions of the two men as far as she was able, although as she pointed out the entrance-way was not well lit and only the captain had been up at her desk. Which was what I had expected.

I decided that it was time to visit the gentleman upstairs.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Captain Marcus Anderson was very much what I had expected, an almost perfect facsimile of his equally able younger brother. He seemed oddly ill at ease in my presence, so I got straight down to business.

“I have one main question”, I said once we were alone. “Who was the third man?”

He looked at me in confusion.

“What man?” he asked.

“The one who masqueraded as your valet when you checked in here”, I said.

I thought for a moment that he was going to try to bluff it out, but clearly he knew defeat when he met it. He sat back and sighed.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Your family is renowned for its successes on the battlefield”, I said. “When one of your own kin threatened the lives of you and your brother, you effected a most successful campaign to remove the danger, part of which involved the employment of a poor consulting detective into helping you 'sort' matters out for the authorities.”

“Your contacts with the most useful Mr. Ivan Khrushnic meant that you were alerted when your renegade cousin left England, and you knew on what day he would arrive here. You arranged for your brother to be in Basrah to intercept me, and to then ensure that even on the fastest ship available I could not be here until _after_ you had sorted matters out. In the meantime you worked on your plantation as your cousin journeyed to meet his doom.”

“Your cousin's ship arrived two days ago, and as you had known he would, he immediately made for the plantation. You could have quite easily disposed of him there and used his body as fertilizer for your precious tea-plants, but there was always the danger that someone in authority might ask questions. Instead you set him up most cleverly. On the day he arrived it was to find that you were interviewing for a new valet, so he quickly effected a disguise – the two of you had only met the once so that was quite safe – and secured the post for himself. When that fact came out later in the investigation, it would be obvious to any outsider that he had planned to kill you.”

“Unfortunately for your cousin you are one step ahead of him. You and at least one associate – the third man I mentioned – overpowered him and then put him under sedation. I dare say had the doctor who examined the body been looking for it, he may have noticed signs of such treatment, but as I have seen before, doctors go a lot on what they are told. In this case the doctor was told that the man who died had been alive two hours before he died, so he merely remarked to the manager on the strange stiffness of the limbs, which he was unable to account for.”

“Your 'third man' is Private Michael Bexley”, the captain smiled. “He was blinded in one eye and set to be shipped home; I secured both an army pension for him and employment in my house in London. He was very grateful.”

“Your wretched cousin was doubtless dispatched around the time you and the private checked into the hotel”, I said. “The concierge remembered that he stood a long way back, but then few people notice servants anyway so the risk was minimal. I dare say that he was also made up to more closely resemble the soon to be dead man. You chose to go to the pool for two reasons; the water might confuse any examination later and you knew that the man on duty would not come out of his room unless asked. It was then easy to effect the switch, a dead body for your 'false' valet, who slipped out of the hotel.”

“You then read, swam and read some more, until you decided that you had waited long enough. You tipped your cousin's body into the water then ran to the man on duty for help – far too late, as you well knew. There was however the danger that, given your family's public profile, someone might make a fuss about your cousin's activities. That is where I was to come in.”

“I am sorry for that”, he said sincerely. “But not for killing the rat. He wanted to kill me and Julius.”

“You knew that, with my contacts, I could ensure that the story is suitably buried”, I said. “Rather like your cousin, I suppose. This is one of those instances where justice has clearly been followed even though the letter of the law equally clearly has not. And as you and your brother were well aware, no English jury would convict a man of killing someone who was very clearly set on killing them. I shall telegraph Mycroft and make sure that he does what needs to be does.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
